A Song For XX
by karamitsuku
Summary: Blood and gore. Snape and Sirius' past come to light. The Dark Lord is rising yet again. No it's not slash, there'll be no lovin' in this fic!


**A Song For XX**  
  
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. I got the title from an Ayumi Hamasaki song.  
  
A/N - I left my disk at school so I couldn't work on my Regency. "Pho!" as Horry would say. So I went back to my dark Snape fic. Lol, err lots of blood and gore going on in this one so yeah... be warned.

-

**Prologue**

Snape leaned against the twisted trunk of a tree and gazed blankly out across the lake. Christmas Day, a time for laughter and gaiety, for family and friends. None of which he he had. Unless he counted... but no, that part of his life was as firmly in the past as he was able to put it. Unfortunately, on nights like these, the separation was little more than paper thin... 

He sighed and pushed away from the tree. Occasionally casting glances towards the brightly lit windows of the Great Hall, he walked in the shaded monochrome of the Hogwarts grounds. 

Of all the holidays, it was Christmas that was worse, that brought back the ghosts of his past. And it was Christmas that he was the least able to shut out. 

Even the usual sanctuary of his dungeon was subtly and not so-subtly invaded by the house elves. Waxy green mistletoe berries tangled in the cobwebs. Festive red velvet bows and bright green holly leaves bedecked his soot blackened cauldrons and rough hewn tables. He shuddered at the mental image. 

But the worse than the things that insinuated themselves into every crevice of his rooms, were the people. Or more specifically, the sound of people. The innocent merriment of his students, when even the most cynical Slytherins and the most coolly rational of Ravenclaws teased and laughed, unaware of, or temporarily ignoring, the basic ugliness and unfairness of the world. 

His temperment, already uncertain at best was generally frayed to breaking point by the onset of Christmas. Every day, he tried desperately to impart some knowledge into their heads, not just of Potions, but of the arbitrary, fickle nature of life outside the sheltered walls of Hogwarts. Or at least that was what he told himself, time and again until his internal protests came fewer and weaker as the years passed. 

This year was the worst. He didn't need Madame Trelawney's vague predictions of doom to sense the very real doom that was looming over them all. It could be heard in the silence of the birds and felt in the unnaturalness of the weather, for those unafraid to look. 

Sighing, he gathered his robes about him, ready to grit his teeth and get on with what he had to do. Pulling his hood up, he shook his head as a means of trying to shake out the fanciful, half-remembered images of his last few sleepless nights, it failed miserably... His head lifted in time to see the first rain drop fall, to feel it mingle with the pre-existing wetness on his cheeks. It looked as if at long last, the storm had broken. 

- 

The streets of the south-east quarter of Hogsmeade were shadowed and dark. A few magic lights sputtered here and there. The rest had guttered out long ago due to civic neglect. It wasn't exactly a bad part of town. So close to the supervision of Headmaster Dumbledore, no place would dare to be. But in another town in different circumstances that would be what people would call it. 

As it was, it had the forlorn look of neglect but there was nothing outrightly sinister. People could walk in safety there during the day and most of the night. It was no coincidence that it was the part of town closest to the Screaming Shack. 

A man was walking down it, tonight. A little wobbly, a lot drunk, he stepped with the overly careful gait of a man trying desperately to look sober. Of course he had a reason to be rather up in the world on tonight of all nights. After nearly a decade of research he'd found it. The reason why He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had hunted the last remaining Potter with such desperation. Amazing really how elegantly simple the equation was once you saw all the pieces. 

He whistled a little tune and tried to accompany it with a dance step. Instead his feet mysteriously tangled with each other and he crumpled in a heap on the floor. Never mind, it would only take him a second to get up. 

Levering himself partway up with his hands, he stared stupidly at the polished black boots before his face. His gaze travelled up the length of the person in front of him, his face growing steadily whiter. 

"How lovely to see you again, Mr. Flamel." A dark voice purred ominously. 

And then it went dark. 

- 

"What's he doing?" Harry whispered. 

"I dunno, looking grouchy I guess." Ron hissed back. "This is no time to be playing let's guess what that grumpy git is going to do to make our vacation miserable!" 

"I think he looks sad." Hermione declared decidedly. 

"Like you can tell from a hundred yards!" Ron replied impatiently, forgetting to whisper. "Come off it Hermione, you just don't want to admit that any of the Professors are bad." 

"That's not true! What about Madame Trelawney?" Hermione shot back heatedly. 

"Oh yeah... one out of -- mmmphh" Ron was cut off by Harry's hand. 

"C'mon you guys, we're here to see how Hagrid is doing not speculate on Snape's personal life." Harry said firmly. 

Amidst grumbles of "you started it!" and "did not!" they finally got themselves rearranged under the Invisibility Cloak and set off in the general direction of Hagrid's Hut. 

Five minutes later, as they were tromping through the soggy fields, Hermione stumbled. 

"You ok?" Harry and Ron paused to look at her. 

"N-no..." Hermione replied in shaky voice. "Actually I rather think I'm not." The back of her hand pressed against her mouth she backed away from the thing she'd tripped over. 

"What is it?" Ron crowded closer. 

"I think you should see this Harry." With that Ron too backed away from the large dark lump and stood by Hermione, attempting to shield her view. 

Harry inched forward and looked down. Whatever it was had once been human. Something had torn it limb from limb so that the largest recognizable piece was the larger part of what had once been a ribcage. With a sickening swoop of his stomach, he realized that not all of the squishiness of the ground was due to rain water. 

He turned around, "How...?" 

Hermione shoulders shook with wracking sobs. As Ron rubbed her shoulders reassuringly he look at Harry and said quietly, "I don't think you've seen it all." 

Harry turned back, trying to scan the body more clinically he saw a placard wedged between upper arm and ribcage. The rest of the arm having gone missing... 

"Merry Christmas Potter. Guess who?" it read. 

"That's just sick." Ron exclaimed. 

Hermione had finally regained her composure, though her voice was still a little watery as she asked, "Did either of you notice the ritual markings on the floor." 

"Hey..." Ron whispered, suddenly struck by a thought. "We saw Snape over by the lake, do you think he had something to do with it?" 

Hermione looked troubled. "I don't know." 

They both looked to Harry to make the final decision. 

"I think that this time we should tell somebody." Harry said slowly. "It's never been cold-blooded murder before, not like this." 


End file.
